LUCKY Words of a higher meaning fill you with dense sorrow. A torment so solid so packed that your physical capacity for cognitive thought is blown. A neutron star of pure despair with only you in its gravitational pull. Time curves too sharply and collides with itself. You are flooded with present, future, and past. Dislocated and in total disarray, there is nothing left. You’re a mental deviant and nothing more. You live far from yourself. In your eyes I see angelic things. Things I can never touch or own and I loathe you for it.